the ox, trapped in the bottle, and by bottle I mean this blog, and by ox I suggest all I have going on as a writing father of two, wine lover, runner, adjunct english professor, entrepreneur… let’s see, what else do I do….. think that’s it, although if you read I’m sure you’ll find something else; the writing father, writing and wining, running and teaching, blogging; everything in the ox’s life, right here. in. the. bottle. the blog. my books.

me: 9/7/16

On hold with bank. Question about charge. Sure it’s something I’m forgetting, as it 90% of the time is. No run this morning. The writing father has to write and not stress about time, as I did the whole ride to the kids’ school, not being able to fully delight in our time together. Again, I war with clutter, everything on this desk. Emptied wallet, and put the goddamn thing in this desk. So now I only carry what cash this adjunct has, his license, medical card, and a Peet’s Coffee gift card that I’m not sure has shit on it. Yes, a mood about me but I’m writing my way through and out of.

Charge reversed, and accidental subscription to running and health magazines cancelled. Should really keep them, but the belt need be more tight. Eating scone, finally, sitting down to write but not for much an extended meditative morning. In shower at 10, on campus by 11 or earlier if possible. I swear, if all to my plan goes, this will be the last semester as an adjunct. I still feel that echoing growl I did at term’s start, and the week between Summer and Fall. So I sit here, listening to my music, finally in a Me’s time. Will need more coffee for classes, definitely. And what else do I want from the day? Three pages. Yes. Three pages showing this writing father and how he needs to stay in tireless strides for his business, his babies. Sip that coffee again… Think she forgot the mocha syrup. Espresso more visible, less obstructed… good. And I bore of my morning writing. How to ‘spice up’? Focus on teaching, what I’m today to teach, “teach”. Don’t know. Feeling a bit unworthy to be at class’ head, if you want to know the truth. Not sure what. This clutter on the desk doesn’t help at all, nor does this backpack heaping with books and stray papers— distracted, distracted! Focus on the day, and the teaching… I could talk about that, focus, and what a struggle it can be sometimes. Right now, here, doing this, is what I’m meant to do, I know. Write and teach self what I can and share findings with readers. Not be in some official position, at some institution. I mean doesn’t it sound funny, the whole premise of teaching? My context, my position, essentially affirms, “I’m going to teach you how to better write, read.” Well, the question has to be catapulted back, “If you’re so strong in writing and reading, why aren’t you writing and reading for a living, rather than teaching others how to?” Won’t repeat the whole ‘those who can and those who can’t’ axiom, but there is validity in it. Well, in my thinking, massive immediacy and relevance. And, if I’m to ascend in my aims and plans, I need be singularized.

Muffin nearly gone. Coffee not tasting any better. So yes, I concede it’s not as I’d like it to be. That’s why I need to stick to straight BLACK coffee. Rather difficult to distort that, right? Like the question I had about the charge, its origin, I’m now questioning my aims, how serious I am about them. If I were to leave teaching and the wine world, right now, what would I be doing, what precisely would be my idyllic terrestrial amalgamation? Thought about this while walking back outside with Jackie to the car to get Emma’s diapers and his blankie. And I found it, that origin, the acute makeup of the ‘there’ ME. Writing, then teaching, that would provoke the travel, then I write from the travel and teach about travel and what it does for the writing, writer. But, again, more sharing of ideas that “teaching”.